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unmounted man raised his shield, but Ian's sword hung straight down, clearly signaling that he would not strike. |
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"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously. |
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Albini lowered his shield. "I will thank you for the courtesy if you will give me leave to mount." |
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"My lord, that horse is not fit," Ian replied, watching the destrier's struggle to rise. Then he laughed. "If you will have it no other way, I will yield to you." |
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That drew an answering laugh from Albini and assuaged his angry frustration. "If it could get me one of those gray devils you ride, I could almost bring myself to accept. But you teach me courtesy, de Vipont. I yield me." |
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"No you will not," Ian responded promptly, "for a mare's son has failed, not your mother's. You as near overmatched me as I do not like to admit. We will meet some other time." |
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The horse was now on its feet, but something had been severely strained, for it was limping. So, Ian realized, was Albini. He must have hurt his leg when the horse fell. Without more words, Ian accompanied him to the edge of the field to be sure no one would try to take advantage of his condition, and then took his leave with a few polite platitudes. He was in the best of spirits. The battle with Albini had been most stimulating, but also rather exhausting. It was very convenient that Albini's horse should fall. It had provided him with a needed restful interlude. He held his horse a moment, scanning the field. The dust was much worse. He had not the faintest idea where his friends were. On the other hand, most probably his enemies did not know where he was, either. |
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In the next few moments it was proved that the latter expectation was too sanguine. As soon as Ian realized he would not be able to pick a likely candidate for his attentions from the sidelines, he rode toward the nearest opening in the mass of battling men and moving horses. He was a little surprised when no one rode out |
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